Beyond the Horizon
by Vesper Moonshine
Summary: Roy Mustang wakes up early one morning while studying under Riza's father and finds a certain blonde in the kitchen. A friendship begins. Their story begins. Eventual Royai. Chapter Three up!
1. Early Rising

_**Beyond the Horizon**_

_**by**_

**Vesper Moonshine**

* * *

_**"Beyond the horizon, behind the sun  
At the end of the rainbow life has only begun  
In the long hours of twilight 'neath the stardust above  
Beyond the horizon it is easy to love" **_

_**Bob Dylan**_

* * *

_**Chapter One: Early Rising**_

It was very early in the morning that Roy Mustang heard the airy notes of a melody skip across the strings of a steel guitar. The instrument played a softly buoyant tune that bounced into his room as he rustled in his bed half asleep, let out a muddled grown, and regretfully opened his eyes.

He'd heard the song in his sleep, a happy relaxing tune worthy of any pleasant dream. Embarrassingly, in his dreams he'd been stepping out a soft shoe dance routine to the song down a grand stare case wearing a top hat and tails, but as fatigue fell away in the face of the bright streams of light stretching through the blinds he understood that it played not from his own subconscious but from somewhere in the Hawkeye house.

He shook off the strange dream as hunger pulled at the pit of his stomach, and the emptiness growled at him like a caged rott weiller. He pushed back the covers and reached for his night shirt, slipping it over his head and stumbling out of his room. He scratched the skin just behind his ear with an uninhibited yawn, and sleepily followed the music

As it would happen, the melody seemed to be coming from the same place his hungry coaxed him towards, and even through sleepiness - or possibly heightened by it - he was strangely enchanted as he rounded the open arch that lead into the kitchen.

What he saw when he entered genuinely surprised him.

Little Riza Hawkeye was standing up on a stool to reach a high shelf in the cupboard, her left leg hovering in the air just above the edge of the stool, which she periodically tapped with her foot in time with the music. There were a couple of eggs sizzling in a silver skillet on the stove below her that smelled as if they'd been seasoned with dill.

In her pale lemon hued dress and with her short yellow hair feathering back around her head she looked like the sun itself. Roy couldn't believe she was already washed and dressed, and cooking breakfast for herself at such an early hour, looking as perfectly in place as the sun's own position in the sky. She pulled out a floral design plate before she stepped down off the stool and spotted him, a startled expression dawning on her face as her feet settled on the cool, white tile.

"Oh, Good Morning. Mr. Mustang." she said with a polite, if somewhat bashful smile.

"Morning." he said, somewhat hesitantly.

It had been nearly a year since he'd been sent to study under Mr. Hawkeye, and he still knew so little about father or daughter. They were a quiet, serious stock with whom casual conversation was always pithy and scant, as hard to catch or hold down as a jittery jack rabbit. So, he didn't know the girl well and after their first cold meeting he really hadn't expected to ever know her. He could tell she was shy; a fortress of flesh and blood with a swinging sign hanging behind her eyes that read 'do not enter'.

Yet, now her silly little stool and her cheery appearance intrigued him. He walked over to her, his face scrunched in confused fascination.

"You're cooking for yourself?" he asked.

"I was hungry." she said simply, shrugging and setting the plate on the counter.

"But you're twelve."

"And you're fourteen." she said, flipping up a corner of one of the eggs to check it's progress with a spatula. " You know how to use a stove, don't you?" She looked at him, curiosity winning out shyness.

He started to defend himself but stopped, his mouth agape as he considered. Then he said, "I made mac and cheese once."

He didn't feel it would be necessary to tell her he'd burnt that meal, or that that was the last time he had tried anything of the kind after being ordered by his disgruntled mother to scrap the cheese off the bottom of the singed pot. An unsuccessfull salvage mission.

She lightly giggled, and it seemed to surprise her as much as it did him.

She poked at the eggs again, gingerly not looking at him, then suddenly, "We have no mac and cheese. We don't torture people here." she said artfully.

Her placid face was sparkling just under its serene surface like gold flecks in a fresh water stream. Dumbfounded, Roy gaped at her.

"Did you just make a joke?" he drew slowly. Maybe he had misheard, it was still very early.

"They don't have those where you come from?"

Another one! Roy certainly found it strange that she choose to be friendly and interesting now. He shook his head in astonishment, "You're kind of odd." he said in all his heavy-handed youth.

"I'm odd?" she said, stepping onto the stool and reaching into the cupboard once more, "You're the one who has his PJ's on in-side-out." she finished flatly with very little humor in her voice, but he could see amusement in her amber golden eyes.

He looked down at his baggy button down sleeping shirt and saw the pronounced seams running down the arms and alongside the buttons. He blushed furiously at the ridiculous sight.

"I was still sleepy when I put it back on." he said, running a hand through his hair, then letting it rest at the base of his neck. Holding the pose he looked away from her, his attention drawing back to the song, that he finally realized was spinning out of an old phonograph on a table in the corner of the kitchen.

"What is that song called?" he asked, avoiding his embarrassment as much as exploring his curiosity.

She stepped down off the stool, another plate in her hands that she proceeded to set on the counter next to the other one, as she said "It's called _Red sails in the Sunset_." She picked the pan up off the burner and slid an egg onto each of the waiting plates.

"I heard it in my dreams this morning." he said absently.

"Your dreams? What were you dreaming of?" She was starting to settle into a comfortable space, he noted, the shyness slowly slipping off her like a silk scarf.

Then he suddenly remembered the embarrassing content of his corny dream, and stumbled for an answer. "Ah, I just remember the song." he said, removing his hand from his neck and swatting the air with it.

She shrugged, grabbing for the salt and pepper before she handed him one of the plates. " Well, It's an old folk song from Acroiya. Something about a sea journey, or coming home from one."

He didn't acknowledge her comment, but looked confused at the dish she'd thrust in front of him. "Isn't this yours?" he asked.

"I'm sure you're hungry, and two is enough to share."

She was smiling softly like a wisp of white cloud stretching across the sky, and he was disarmed by it. Really, he had been disarmed since first opening his eyes that morning. Roy Mustang didn't dream of dancing, or weepy old folk songs, or put his clothes on in side out. Roy Mustang was a serious, disciplined young lad. Now, after just waking up one morning he'd suddenly become a slap stick idiot worthy of any nickelodeon? It was weird.

"Thank you." he said.

"Your welcome." she answered, taking her own plate and sitting down at the table.

He followed her, taking a seat next to her, and he continued to stare at her in between sending his fork on a vicious expedition through the runny sunny side eggs. She was pretty in a tom-boyish sort of way, he thought, and she did look queerly radiant with her pale coloring. She was odd, but she had given him part of her breakfast, and with that, he decided he would get up early tomorrow in hopes that early rising was her routine.

--

As Roy had hoped, fixing herself breakfast at dawn was her habit, and fixing extra for him soon became part of that habit. After several months he'd even gotten up earlier than her a couple of times to make the meal, but after nearly falling asleep during Mr. Hawkeye's lessons because of it, and after the fire alarm incident he'd figured he had better stop. She was still there every morning, though, waiting with a glass of orange juice in summer and a cup of tea in winter.

Some days Mr. Hawkeye would come out of his study and join them, reading his news paper or going over research notes. Those days Roy saw how different Riza was in front of her father, and realized that before that first early morning he'd only spoken to her with her father hovering over them.

During the mornings with her father she was quiet and reserved, but when he was absent they would talk of many things. Some serious, such as their child's grasp on the ongoing border conflicts or his alchemy lessons; some stupid, like neighborhood gossip or why female movie stars fainted when they fell in love, and why cowboys always road off into the horizon. The last subject became quiet a debate one morning that had started when Riza asked what the horizon was anyway, and what it meant that everyone wanted to ride off into it. The question struck a cord that they continued to play with through the remainder of their breakfast.

"It's Nothing." She said, "It keeps moving away as you get closer to it. It stands for relentless walking and a restless life." She took a bite of her buttered toast, looking wholly satisfied with her answer and not waiting for Roy's reply.

He did anyway, shaking his head as he scrapped his fork on the porcelain china to cut himself out a bite of his pancakes.

"It's the future." he proudly stated, feeling wise in his superior age, " 'I'm going to get to what's over that horizon' someone says, and when they do it's tomorrow." He plowed the pancakes into his mouth, grinning widely.

She rolled her eyes at his goofy display and said, "But you don't have to _cross_ the horizon to get to tomorrow. I can sit her all day and that will happen whether I do anything or not."

He contemplated for a moment, swallowing his ridiculously large bite with a forced gulp."Okay, then it's like a goal. A goal for the future. Something to work for."

Her face scrunched, "Now you're just being silly." She said.

"No, I'm not" he retorted, petulantly putting his fork on his plate.

"Yes, you are." she said, also setting her silverware down moderately.

"No, I'm right. You'll see someday."

"No. I don't think so." She picked up her own empty plate and his half empty one, and he was too distressed over the tiff to care that she was taking away his breakfast.

"I'm sure." He obstinately crossed his arms over his chest.

"So am I." she said, in a confident sing-song, turning on the faucet and rinsing the dishes. Roy was facinated that she could play at nonchalance like any other girl her age would play at dress up. It was like finding a heightened level of intelligence and maturity in a furry kitten, finding out it could talk or something. It was disconcerting.

"Ooh you're..." He threw one hand up, clinching his fingers around an invisible ball in his frustration, then he pointed a rigid finger at her back. "You're stubborn!"

She whirled around to face him. "I'm stubborn!?"

"It would seem you both are." Came a stern voice from the the man standing under the Kitchen's entry way arch. Riza was visibly startled at her father's sudden appearance, straightening her posture when first she saw him, and Roy was rather unhappily enmeshed in the awkward situation.

When neither of the young people answered, Mr. Hawkeye went on, "What is this battle of wills about?" he asked.

Roy was the one to answer, noting how stalled Riza looked. "We were arguing over what the horizon is, and what it means in movies, and books, or... you know."

Mr. Hawkeye's face was as blank as a leaf of white paper, and Roy suddenly felt unutterably foolish.

"What point's have each of you taken?" Mr. Hawkeye asked slowly, and Roy explained the details.

"Your both incorrect." Mr. Hawkeye stated.

"Then what is it?" Riza hesitantly ventured, one of her hands raised to her breast, curling around the fabric of her blouse.

Mr. Hawkeye significantly looked at his daughter as he answered, and his eyes shimmered with a mystery that Roy couldn't even begin to understand; it was like a lost city at the bottom of the ocean, untouched for centuries, unreachable for turbulent waves.

"You'll know when you've long crossed it."

Mr. Hawkeye left without another word, leaving only confusion in his wake.

"What kind of answer is that?" Roy mumbled when his master was out of earshot. He let out a breath as the tension loosened in the room minus one patriarch.

Riza didn't answer, just turned back to the dishes, slipping her hands under the water she'd left running when she'd turned from the sink. Worried at her silence, Roy crossed to her, and put his hands into the water with hers, saying, "Let me do them. You cooked."

"I really don't mind." she said, not looking at him.

"I don't either." Roy returned, charmingly.

They did them together, her washing and him drying. It was a palpable kind of stasis that they moved into almost instinctively; a moment that bordered the stratum between discomfort and comfort. Roy wouldn't realize until much later in his life that that moment was one of his first encounters with the bittersweet taste life inevitably leaves in all who grow up.


	2. The Wraiths of Lyonton

**Disclaimer: I don't own them, I just love them.**

_**Chapter Two: The Wraiths of Lyonton**_

The elegant country estate of Lyonton rested between two rolling hills like a regale monarch sitting between the arms of his throne, and the first time he saw it, Roy remembered being awe-struck like a savant in the presence of royalty. But that was before he'd been forced to live in the disintegrating old place for two years, out in the boondocks, with vary few friends

Located in the country proper of Stourbridge, just out side of East City, the stone monarch ruled over twenty acres of rich soil sprawling from the banks of the Milassi river to the prosperous cotton fields to the northeast. Tranquil. Peaceful. Ancient cottonwood tress flanked the outside of the large house, their thick, barrel-roll branches casting moody shadows over the wide stretching porch. In spring and summer anyone could hear the bassy, guttural chants of the field hands picking and hauling bushels of cotton from dawn on into the russet stained hours of twilight. So Pleasant.

If he sat long enough on the porch, Roy felt thrust back in time. A time that looked pretty in a tinted picture but was boring when the city was a fast car ride away. If only he could drive.

Stourbridge itself harbored the city's wealthiest businessmen and most illustrious military officials, and had become, in resent years, a prim location for duck hunting, wine tasting, and gulf. Any aristocrat's perfect getaway. Stourbridge's prestigious hotels, B&B's, and Villa's had to be booked months in advance to guarantee a room, and the first class guests, most of which were high in military rank, were habitually invited on hunting expeditions and social luncheons by the community's denizens.

Incidentally, Lyonton was the only notable estate that didn't welcome upper echelon revelers. Mr. Hawkeye did nothing less than indignantly sneer at the unknowing military men and their families who tried to tour his home.

And what a home it would have been to put on display, Roy thought. The building was a relic from before Amestris' early period of state development, characterized by eccentric brick work on its face and boarded by Doric colonnades. If renovated it would have been breathtakingly beautiful, but was currently in the final stages of crumbling like a mountain worn down to a mole hill by erosion and deposition. But like any beautiful woman, Lyonton's features would hold the wrinkles of old age with dignity and grace.

Roy, on the hand didn't know if he could be so graceful under the strain of time. Oh such a long time!

The usual lunch hour had long passed without Mr. Hawkeye relieving Roy from his lesson plan, and his stomach growled accordingly. Not seeming to hear, Mr. Hawkeye scribbled away in his yellowing old research notebook. The scritch scratch sound his steel-tipped fountain pen made was starting to irritate Roy. The noise was somewhat like the ticking away of a clock in the lull of a sleepless night, a repetitive drowning that in the relative silence tediously marked the long span of time he'd been couped up in Hawkeye's study.

Yet, Roy knew Mr. Hawkeye wasn't being cruel and was merely unaware of the time that passed wrapped up in his work. As formal as a black dress suit and just as stiff, Mr. Hawkeye was a brilliant and dedicated Alchemist who's dedication stopped at the door of his study, and touched anything outside his obsession with a slow molten apathy.

Roy would watch him with his daughter and the silence they swam in was as palpable as a bowl of Jello, and held as many mystery's as a lost civilization's incomplete history. And Roy was no Archaeologist, he didn't know where to start digging to find the truth. But something had happened, and it had rocked the walls of the house they now both ghosted through.

Roy's stomach growled again and he sighed at length. He would have normally been filled with one of Riza's breakfasts to hold him over until Mr. Hawkeye noticed that eating was essential for growing boys, but Riza hadn't fixed anything that morning beyond a couple slices of burnt toast. And Riza Hawkeye never burnt anything.

Ever.

That was the first sign that something was wrong.

She was extremely solemn all through the meal, then she'd left earlier than usual, excusing herself with a half-hearted apology for the unsatisfactory toast. When he'd asked if she were feeling well she'd said she was weary of the busy day ahead of her, wanted to get started on her chores and extra school work. He'd wanted to follow her and probe at what he thought were evasive lies, but Mr. Hawkeye had called for him. So he'd watched her walk away.

It was then that he acerbically thought it could be wise to find a friend who was a little less distant before the wraiths of Lyonton pulled him into their lonely limbo with them. Of course, small problem was there was no one around for miles. But cynicism aside, he still wanted Riza to be his friend, and he hated that for all their friendly dialog over breakfast vitals she was still as unassailable as a Martello tower.

Blessedly, Mr. Hawkeye set aside his pen and told Roy to hand in his work. Ink stained on the tips of his fingers smudged the sides of the papers, but he didn't seem to notice, or care, as he scanned the work.

"Transmuting nitroglycerin in combination with kieselghur clay is not a significantly effective Alchemical transmutation, Roy, but how to make a crude stick of dynamite." Mr. Hawkeye said.

"I know I've read of it somewhere, sir." Roy offered eagerly.

Roy had intentionally put in the mistake to coax his teacher into conversation about combustive elements. Mr. Hawkeye's specialty was elemental fire Alchemy, but he'd rarely shared the details of it with Roy, explaining he was not yet ready for the knowledge.

"Suppose they were put into a transmutation circle drawn in the dirt, the natural oils in the earth could be extracted to ignite the two."

"Truly, their state would become unstable but without an igniter of some kind there would be no assurance of detonation." Mr. Hawkeye said.

"What sort of igniter?" Roy asked.

"I imagine a lighter would suffice."

Roy cursed to himself. The man was not to be manipulated it seemed. But Roy figured it was a small step in the right direction that Mr. Hawkeye didn't call him out on his tactical probing, and deny him the knowledge flat out.

"You can take you lunch now." Mr. Hawkeye said buried in his work once more.

"Yes, thank you, sir." Roy bowed before he left the study.

The lights were off in the hall outside, and Roy had to stumble around in deficient lighting in the middle of the day because the sun never reached that burrowed section of the large house. He was just about to step into the light from the kitchen that flooded a section of the hall, when he heard a clattering thunk above his head. He looked up and met only cracked and stained walls bordered by a prosaic crown molding. Curiosity seized him and he diverged right, away from the kitchen, down the hall, and out into the lofty foyer. A grand staircase fanned out on to the foyer's marble floor, and Roy climbed it's blood red, carpeted steps.

He found the second floor empty, in both the east and west wings, and he was heading back for the main stairs when he heard a small, sweet voice echoing through the walls, singing like a lonely whippoorwill. He followed it to the base of the attic stairs and stopped before climbing.

He tilted his head intently. He knew that song, he'd been frequently dreaming of it since that first morning nearly a year ago. _Red Sails in the Sunset._ He'd danced, he'd sang, he'd done a number of embarrassingly sentimental things while, in sleep, that song spilled out of the recesses of his mind. He'd even taken his teachers young daughter in his arms and spun her round until she laughed like he had never heard her laugh, joyous and with abandon. He blushed at the memory; dreams were inexplicable.

He continued up the stairs.

At the top, a sliver of faded light sliced through the attic door that was slightly ajar, and Roy approached it tentatively. What he saw from that small break between the frame and the door of that attic he would not soon forget. The light of a single bulb swinging from a beaded chain connected to a rafter beam, shifted the highlights in blonde hair like the moon reflected in the moving waters of a stream. From where she sat on the dusty floor next to a battered cardboard box, her face almost turned from him, he could just make out the curve of Riza Hawkeye's left cheek and the slope of her nose.

There on soft flesh was a trickle of moisture that dripped down onto a photograph that was in her hands, and her fingers stroked the tear away from the figure immortalized in shaded black and white. Roy could just barely make out that the picture was of a woman, a beautiful, yellow haired woman. Riza's drew the last note of the song out like the exhaling of a dieing breath, and then said softly, "Happy Birthday, mother..." Her voice began to brake, "I'm so sorry I made you weak."

He didn't know what he could, or would, say or do so he lightly stepped away, touching each step down with the tips of his toes. He didn't like seeing her cry, it was like a lily weeping. Lilies shouldn't weep, lilies were too innocent and harmless for any tears they shed to be considered fair or deserved.

At the bottom of the stairs, he stopped and hung his head, the lids of his eyes drooping low over his dark irises. Through those narrowed slits he studied the intricate design of the hallway carpet. Byzantine shapes and angles weaving in and out of colorful gestalt's, and he tried to find a patten, a starting point, but he couldn't. There was just too much detail to see.

Riza was crying on her dead mothers birthday and he was staring at ancient carpet because, like the carpet, everything was all too complicated. When he didn't understand - even his own feelings eluded him - what could he do?

Roy would, years later, regret not turning around to stumbled through comforting her, but at fifteen, he pushed the desire down and walked away.

--

One morning, nearly six months later, Roy rose before the sun as per usual but Riza was not in the kitchen. He immediately thought of the last day their routine had been upset and started to worry. Then she had only left early, now she was gone completely.

She was really no where to be found. Not in the high backed lounge in the drawing room, where she would settle with a book on the weekends around late morning; not in her bedroom, where she would sit at her desk completing school work in the late afternoon. Not anywhere. He checked out on the veranda, one of her favorite evening spots, where she would sit bundled up in a moth eaten sweater two sizes to big for her. He even dared to check the attic. He was disturbed by her absence it gave him the courage to disturb Mr. Hawkeye during his privet mornings in the study to ask her father where she was.

"You must be very hungry." Mr. Hawkeye said dryly as Roy stuck his head in. When Roy stared at him blankly, Mr. Hawkeye showed a rare smile.

"You are quite taken with my daughter, Roy."

Roy rushed the rest of the way into the study and shut the door behind him, keeping his back close to the smooth oak surface like it was a life saver.

"What?! No! Of course not!" he exclaimed, running all of his words together as they shot out of his mouth with the velocity of a flicked rubber band. "No! She is too little."

Mr. Hawkeye nodded his head as if he understood, but said, "We all grow."

Roy felt a lurching bubble of panic unsettle his hungry, aching stomach, and decided then and there he did not like the feeling. "I, uh..."

Mr. Hawkeye pushed back his desk chair and crossed to Roy. "You are a smart boy and I trust your judgment" And Roy sensed he meant it as half encouragement, half warning, but then there was that rare smile once more.

"Yes sir." he answered curtly.

Mr. Hawkeye nodded again. "She's in town on an errand I sent her about. Now that I think on it she may need an extra pare of hands."

Roy left the room feeling like a pare of pants that had been washed in to much starch, and, stiff as a board, he marched right out the front door. It wasn't true! Mr. Hawkeye had always been too engrossed in his research, not to mention Roy's studies, to notice something like that. He was just a loopy old man playing matchmaker. Roy stomped off toward town repeating his denial and lamenting his woe at having such a crazy teacher.

He zipped past rows of cherry blossom trees in full bloom, and their petals fell on his hair, sprinkling his black crown. He didn't notice. He followed the wide packed dirt road until it narrowed into a scraggy little foot trail that dipped down to meet one of the meandering Milassi tributaries. With a stick he'd found on the ground, he swatted irritably at the tall wild grass stretching across the path.

Did she think the same way as her father? Well, and why wouldn't she?

Roy Mustang was old enough to know he could have that affect on any of the rest of the girls he knew, but Riza? No, she wasn't a silly girl, she was his best friend. That's right, she wasn't like a girl at all with her short hair and her quiet way of calling him out on any stupid thing he did. No, no, any supposedly stupid thing. What did she know, she was younger then him?

He reached the bridge arching over the river and he could see the quaint town of Stourbridge from there. The cluster of dark brown roofs slanted and jutted into the sky, their provincial wooden shingles dripping down over bay colored stucco. The buzz of the street market stung his ears, and as he neared he could smell the spices of the melting pot. Cardamom and ginger twisting with live poultry in a muddy medley; flour and day old bread floating in the air along with the entire sky's worth of dust.

He moved past it all, not acknowledging a single shouting vendor. He turned into the General store with a sour face that made a few unsuspecting customers flinch, and all of them cleared out of his way while giving him the strangest looks. He ignored them all, and planted himself at the entrance, not taking one step further in as he surveyed the store for Riza.

Where was the stupid, boyish - that's right boyish - little blonde? This was all her fault, if she'd have only been in the kitchen that morning none of this would have happened, and he also wouldn't be so hungry!

"Roy?"

The knot in his stomach rocketed off and struck him square in the jaw. That could really be the only explanation for the yelp he made as he jumped. His feet scuffed the floor as he reared back at the sight of her to his direct right, a leather tout draped over her shoulder.

Her eyes widened in bewildered surprise at his high pitch exclamation, and after recovering, she asked, "What are you doing here?"

"Your too little!" he blurted out, and she looked slightly offended through her confusion. "...To carry every thing!" he amended quickly, "Your to little to carry the big stuff home."

She didn't move for a long while, staring at him wearily like he'd lost his mind.

"Okay, I have to go pay." she said slowly, pointing a hesitant finger at the register on the left side of the store, directly behind Roy.

"Yeah." he said, like it was his idea, and stepped aside.

She payed the bill and bid the shopkeep a placid goodbye, then pointed out a sack of clay for Roy to haul. Roy thought it odd Mr. Hawkeye had wanted clay, but hefted the cotton sack over his shoulder without a second thought because his mind was elsewhere. He didn't say anything on the walk through the market, but couldn't ignore the curious looks Riza was giving him the whole time. Her extra attention became so unbearable he had to stop and find out what it was she was staring at.

"What?" he said.

She deliberated, resettling her leather satchel on her shoulder, "Well, it's nothing, just..."

"What?" he repeated, anxiously worried now. Had her father been spreading his daffy ideas? Oh no, here it came. What would he do? He began to get hot all over, and his heart started beating out a nervously erratic rhythm.

"Do you know you have flower petals in your hair?"

"Huh?" Completely caught of guard, Roy reached up and felt several soft little bits treading through his hair. He pulled one out and looked at it like it was a bug, a small, sweet smelling, pink bug.

Ow, how appalling!

He suddenly remembered all those people at the general store staring at him. His family had teased him mercilessly about his pretty looks enough for him to know how ridiculously suggestive pink flowers in his hair looked. He scratched at his head, ruffling his hair so wildly he nearly dropped the bag of gun powder.

She was laughing now, a hand pressing to her lips.

"It's not funny!" he whinnied.

"It's a little funny." she said through bubbly giggles.

He huffed irritably before walking off without waiting for her, and she followed, giggling sporadically as he nettled all the way to the river. As they reached the banks his stomach growled loudly, and she stopped him with her hand lightly touching his arm. The physical contact sent a daunting tingle a prickling all through him.

"You didn't eat?" she asked.

"Well, you weren't there." he said, shuffling his feet awkwardly on the ground.

Her face softened, and for a moment he feared she was going to get mushy. Then, of all things, she laughed again, to which he looked up at her, completely lost.

She abruptly stopped laughing and served him with a level gaze, then heavily sighed. "Can't you do anything for yourself?" she asked mildly, with a weary shake of her head.

He stepped back as if reacting to a swat across the face. With all previous tingles subsiding, he said, "I'd like to see you transmute fire from thin air."

"Why would I need to do that when I can turn on a stove?" she said smartly, "And can you even transmute fire yet?" she add, cocking her head to one side.

"Well, no...but I have cooked a few times." Oh, he knew that was the wrong thing to say the minute he remembered the smell of burning pancakes so vividly he thought he would start coughing.

"And that turned out well." she said, turning from him.

She began walking on, the wind whipping at the loose fitting trousers she'd belted at her waist over a sleeveless linen blouse. A cold front was riding in on that sharp, chilling breeze and the air hinted at rain with a scent of earthy freshness. He followed her, feeling the chill of defeat as much as the nip of the weather, and as they traversed the thin foot path on the other side of the river he felt a rain drop on his nose.

Great! Anything else!?

At that moment, Roy heard a sudden ripping and then felt a grainy substance sneak it's way into the back of his pants, at which he voiced another high yelp. Turning to look behind him, Roy dropped the bag of clay, which fell on the ground, one quarter empty with a few of its binding stitches frayed apart. Roy danced up and down in a small stationary circle, with his hands on the top of his trousers, shaking them furiously.

It was only when he looked down at the bag, its snapped seams letting the fabric flap freely in the wind, did he hear Riza laughing. She was laughing harder than she had ever in front of him, and it reminded him of his recurring dreams. He had heard and enjoyed that laugh so many times, but now that he heard in life it just made him slightly more irritated with her then he already was.

"It's not funny!" he yelled.

"It's a little funny" And she could barely get that much out for laughing, but he'd heard it and narrowed his eyes. The rain had picked up by that time and the leaking grains of clay were turning soppy. Roy eyed it deviously, picked up a hand full, and chucked it at Riza's clean white blouse, soiling the fabric in a spray of sienna brown.

"Hey!" she looked up indignantly. There was a steely light in her eyes that Roy had never seen before like a glint off quicksilver, and he immediately knew he had done the wrong thing.

"Oh, wait. Riza, I'm sorry. Riza?"

She stalked toward him and answered by hefting the leather tote off of her shoulder and smacking his arm with it.

"Ow!" Roy grabbed his bicep and started rubbing, wishing she would just go back to being quiet and shy. She had a way of constantly getting under his skin with that unaffected confidence she had adopted around him. And only him. He'd liked that they could be so comfortable with one another, but he didn't bargain for this, or for Mr. Hawkeye's inferences.

"You use to be so nice." he snapped, not paying any mind to the rain pelting down on him, gluing his hair to his head and soaking his clothes

"Don't blame this on me. This isn't my fault" she said crossing her arms, "Your the one who's been snippy all day." Her flammable anger had simmered down to a low boil as she stared at him levelly. Roy was always surprised with how fast she could control herself with disciplined checks and balances; it was intimidating because it was calculated and always gave her the upper hand in their debates.

"Snippy?" Roy said, incredulously.

"Ever since the store you've been weird, like someone told you were..." She shrugged her shoulders, searching for the right word, "...useless and you took it to heart on a war path."

"I am not useless!" he yelled, stepping closer to her, his fits balled at his sides.

She put her hands on her hips and stepped forward in kind "I didn't say that were!"

"Hey! Are you two okay?"

Roy and Riza turned their angry glares on a male soldier standing by the side of the packed dirt road just beyond the foot path, and the soldier widened his eyes, startled. He cleared his throat and hesitantly asked if they needed a ride somewhere.

Riza was the first to respond as she stepped away from Roy and readjusted her satchel. "Thank you, sir. That would be wonderful." she said, and chastised Roy with a sidelong glance that said 'this is how civilized people should act'.

He crossed his arms in one short, jerky motion, and scoffed. "Yeah, thanks."

Riza narrowed her eyes before she started for the soldiers Model T Ford. "We live just down the road." She said to the soldier in a much kinder manner.

They loaded into the back seat of the car and scooted as far away from one another as could be arranged in the small space. Roy pressed his side up against the side door and watched the waterlogged scenery zip by through a window that was fogged over from his own breath.

What she had said kept picking at him in much the same way he poked and prodded at the crawling bugs on the back patio of Lyonton when he was board. He was the most promising Alchemist in apprenticeship within miles, maybe the whole of Amestris he liked to think. Incredibly talented is what he was. A quick learner, a dedicated scientist, and a fit and healthy male, he was in no way 'useless'. The more he thought about it the more unsettled he became, and in turn the more difficult it became to bottle it in, so, without turning from the window, he spoke in a hissing whisper.

"I'm not useless."

Riza blew at a chunky strand of her bangs that had fallen astray before her eyes, and said slowly so he wouldn't miss it. "I didn't say you were."

Suddenly the soldier laughed from the drivers seat as he shifted gears. Both Roy and Riza looked up irritably, and the man said, "I'm sorry. But I didn't know people your age still pouted like five year olds."

"What did you say?! Roy exploded, while Riza just perked up like a cross-eye jack rabbit catching warning sounds on the wind.

The man laughed again, this time a muted chuckle through a tight mouthed grin. "Just saying that you and your lady look like too nice a couple to be fussing out in the rain."

Roy felt like his lungs had been plunged into a bucket of soda water, and he coughed accordingly. "She's not- " he managed before another fit of hacking seized him.

Rolling her eyes Riza picked up where he left off. "I'm not his lady, sir. Imagine how much work that would be for me if it were true."

"Now, what is that supposed to mean?" Roy recovered enough to yell at her.

"Nothing." She suddenly became very interested in the landscape outside her side of the rocking Model T.

"Are you saying I need improvement?!" Roy went on to ask with a tightly screwed up face.

"Here we are." Riza said, as the car approached the iron gate of Lyonton.

She was ignoring him! She had insulted him and just retreated without letting him deploy his defensive. He was just about to show her that he would not meet with defeat when the solider spoke.

"Well, what a coincidence. This is where I was headed."

Roy snapped his head up to look at the soldier, his jovial face grinned at them over the front seat, his arm swung over the beige upholstery carelessly. Oh, the poor man, Roy thought. Hawkeye would icily turn him away just like all the rest of the soldiers searching for state Alchemist recruits. Roy slumped down in his seat; some days it just didn't pay to get out of bed.

**A/N: Roy will not always be such a brat, but he's very young and I imagine a lot like Edward in some ways. Tell me what you think.**


	3. A Dogged Soldier

**A/N: Wow. It's been a while. I've been buisy with school. If you read my profile you'll see when a most offten post. Sorry to keep anybody who's still reading waiting.**

**Disclamer: I don't own them, but the doggy ears are mine.**

_**Chapter Three: A Dogged Soldier**_

Riza sighed as she took in the cheery face of their driver. His cheeks were inflated and plump with a wide smile that she knew her father would directly stick a pin into and deflate once this poor rookie announced his intentions. She really did wish it wasn't raining so she could stealthily slip away and avoid the impending confrontation, but she was already wet and didn't want to catch cold. She hated colds, or being ill in any way, she could never get anything done between coughs and sniffles.

After recovering from the last time she'd been taken down with a fever Roy had told her - accompanied with a smirk - that while she had been tossing and turning in bed during delirious mumblings she'd recited over and over a list of the things she needed to do. She'd denied it at the time but she'd slowly began to remember the contents of the list as she later set about taking care of each task. Inactivity was not for her. So to keep her heath, she was forced to sit and stare at the man, her eyes weary and wide with quiet panic.

She had no intension of asking the man why his destination was Lyonton, she already knew from years of being stuck in the middle of every awkward encounter between her father and Amestris' finest.

Roy didn't feel the same it seemed.

"Really? What is you business here?" he asked, and he tried to say it as casually and kindly as he could. Riza knew he already knew the answer to this as well.

"Scoutin' for new recruits." the soldier said, while crudely, and somewhat absent-absentmindedly, itching the dip between his nose and lips. The gesture made her wince. Oh, her father was going to fillet this one

"Your not an Alchemist, are you?" Roy asked, with a duck-and-cover scrunch to his face.

"No. Why?"

Riza audibly sighed, then immediately forced a smile when the driver focused on her momentarily. Roy quickly spoke up, regaining the soldier's attention.

"It's just that the owner of this house is an Alchemist, so maybe your boss made a mistake. An Alchemist to recruit an Alchemist right? That's the policy, right?"

_Oh please, take the extremely obvious hint_. Riza thought.

He didn't.

Instead his face lit up, and Riza, horrified, once again marveled at how wide his ruddy cheeks could bloat. "An Alchemist, huh!?" he exclaimed. "That'd be a great recruit! You two can introduce me, that will be proper enough."

The young man slipped from the car and opened only Roy's door, and in his exuberance forgot to open Riza's, or even wait for either child to exist before he began to trot down the driveway.

The two children stalled, staring, dumbfounded, at the back of the soldier's receding shoulders, his head happily bobbing like a hapless buoy set adrift without an anchor. Then Riza began to shoo Roy out of the car. "Well, do something!"

He turned to her, leaning away from her insistent shoves. "What am I supposed to do? He's going to knock anyway, you can't tell a dog not to chase it's own tail!"

"Dog?" Riza said just a little incredulously, "Don't you intend to enlist when you come of age?"

"That's not what I meant, and don't say that so loud!" Roy hissed.

"I'm sure my father can't hear you all the way out in the drive."

Roy only frowned, and to Riza he looked like a pouty five year old being told to take a bath.

"Oh," she huffed in exasperation. "Boys!"

She moved to open her door but the thing seemed to be jammed so, never loosing determination, she started to climb over Roy's lap, swinging her leg over both of his legs, her face bobbing just before his face.

"What are you doing!?" He yelled, smacking his back ramrod-straight against the squeaky leather upholstery. She stopped for a moment and looked down at him, his eyes were wide and he looked almost scared. What was wrong with him today? she thought, he was acting like a twitchy Pomeranian fed on sugar spiked kibble.

But she hadn't the time to worry about his bipolar swings at the moment.

She rolled her eyes and continued across him. "My door won't open, and I have to get out of this car to stop that man from doing something stupid." she said.

Shoving the rest of the way past Roy and hopping out of the car Riza ran to catch up with the soldier who was already almost to the porch of Lyonton. The rain had let up a little, but was still coming down evenly and it continued soak her already wet self. Then from behind her she heard a curse, a squishy thud, and a wet rustle that she suspected was Roy tripping over himself and falling out of the Model T. She would have found this riotously funny if she didn't have a dim witted Soldier to persuade.

"Excuse me, sir" she said, breathlessly coming up on the soldiers left, "M...My father isn't home." Riza grinned weakly at the man.

"Really? That's to bad." The soldier's face fell as he cocked his mouth and eyebrows simultaneously in a thoughtful skew. "Well. . ." he slowly drawled, "Do you know when he'll be back?"

Roy trotted up on the soldier's right, just then, his dark blue jeans soaked from the knees down to the cuffs with mud. His hands -that he waved out in front of himself as he spoke- were a raw red from breaking his own fall. "He's off on vacation. He's even thinking of extending his stay." Roy said, following up with a contrived shrug. The soldier regarded Roy's appearance with a screwed up face, and a couple of confused blinks.

"Thank you so much for the ride." Riza offered hurriedly and sighed out a relieved breath.

"Yeah," Roy said, then added, absently glancing at the ground. "She would have caught a cold, she hates that."

Riza raised an eyebrow at him and Roy immediately looked up, clearing his trout.

"Roy, Riza? What is this?"

Riza, her heart jumping up into her mouth at the sound of her fathers voice, turned with a guilty frown toward the man standing on the porch.

"Teacher" Roy hurriedly said, "...This man gave us a ride when we were caught in the rain. Thank you, soldier." Roy finished curtly, and quickly grabbed Riza's wrist and dragged her behind him toward the front door. She was surprised by the contact, and it only served to make her feel more awkward and nervous.

"Oh, you are home, sir." The soldier said. "I'm here to acquaint you with the benefits the Amestrian military can offer an Alchemist such as yourself. Such as-"

"I'm fully aware of our governments policy of exploitation, and I've no desire to hear your manual memorized pitch, military dog."

As always Mr. Hawkeye got viciously to the point. Roy and Riza halted dead in their dash, and Riza wasn't even sure who had stopped first, but she wearily resigned herself to the proximate disaster.

The soldier, himself, stalled only momentarily, then indignantly addressed Mr. Hawkeye. "There's no need to get insulting, sir. I'm offering-

"Offering?" Mr. Hawkeye interrupted once again. "Peddling, more like. Tell your superior that the next time he intends to try and convert me at least to not send a carbon copy enlisted man." Mr. Hawkeye turned away like a king who had just passed a harsh, criminal sentence on one of his lowly subjects. But before he could reach the door, the soldier followed directly behind with a choleric set to his stride.

"I won't be insulted by a near traitorous elitist, There's no-"

Before the soldier could finish, Mr. Hawkeye turned, slipped a felt tip marker out from under his long sleeves and proceeded to pluck the soldiers wedge cap from his head. With the adroit hands of a card wielding magician, Mr. Hawkeye scribbled a small array into the blue fabric, then plopped the hat back on the soldiers head as the transmutation engaged with a blinding flash. Riza closed her eyes, then immediately dropped her jaw when she opened them again.

The hat now had two floppy doggy ears, dangling down on either side of the soldiers face, and a canine button nose bobbing on a thin wire just over the soldiers own nose.

Just as quickly as he'd advanced, Mr. Hawkeye retreated into the house, letting the door slam behind.

Riza watched the door slam, afraid to look back at the be-eared soldier. There was a silence born of utter astonishment starchy in the air, until Roy's shoes scrapped on the flaking wooden deck. He suddenly pulled Riza by the wrist again - which he hadn't ceased to cling to all through the embarrassing episode - and ventured a weak sorry to the muddled soldier.

Once inside the foyer Roy let go of her wrist with a quick jerk, and they both lolled there looking a strange cross bread between scared and confused. Riza looked up and spied a pensive frown drawing down Roy eyebrows. Then he looked up at her, still holding his frown as their eyes met, and suddenly barked out a chuckle. His chuckle turned into out right laughter, and Riza could only stare as he began to double over, hands splayed across his knee caps for support.

"It's not funny." She said, admonishing.

He straightened and tried to still his erratic breathing as he served her a devious smile.

"It's a little funny."

She had the urge to hit him again, but another urge proved stronger as she too started laughing.

They stood in the foyer for a long while, their laughter resounding off the high ceiling. Through her mirth, she knew it was strange for her to react so flippantly to something she had always dreaded, but it all seemed lighter with him there to witness it, to share her trepidation, anxiety, and laughter. What perspective two pares of eyes lent to understanding, she thought, like nothing could seem as big while flanked on either side. Either way, the happiness of laughing had been easier this whole day than it had been for a long time.

Their laughter simmered into sporadic giggles, and Riza wiped a few tears from her eyes when she regained her bearings.

"I didn't know the old man had such an ornery sense of humor...or any sense of humor." Roy set off chuckling again with a new fervor.

Riza just smiled, the curve of her lips becoming somewhat sad. "He use to." she said, evenly.

Riza noticed Roy take a step towards her, a curious sympathy swimming in his black eyes beneath furrowed brows, and she quickly stepped toward the staircase.

"I better go change." she excused herself, withdrawing with a proper bow of her head. She sneaked a covert glance at Roy as she rose from her bow, and she could almost see words poised on the swells of his open lips, but she out ran them. She would let him make her laugh, but not make her confess.

--

Before Roy could recover from Riza's quick exit and make it to his room to change out of his wet, muddy clothes, Mr. Hawkeye came out into the foyer inquiring after the bag of clay. Roy had completely forgotten about it in all the commotion so he apologized and promised Mr. Hawkeye he would go to town and buy a knew bag tomorrow. Then Mr. Hawkeye's suggested that the coast of the second bag should come from the monthly allowance Roy's mother sent to him by mail. The old man really _was_ an ornery thing, and Roy was surprised at how he hadn't caught on to it before.

Roy asked what Mr. Hawkeye intended to use the clay for, and he had evasively answered that he was thinking about taking up ceramics.

Roy would bet his ability to speak on the clay having something to do with Fire Alchemy, if he could only figure it out. There were so many things he was now determined to find out; he wasn't one to let the world pass him by without trying to understand it.

He needed to know why Riza always pulled away when she caught herself opening up, why her apathetic father's presence made her go even colder. Mr. Hawkeye was neglectful but Roy couldn't picture him being necessarily cruel or deviant, it was something else. Roy would also bet that something had to do with Riza's late mother. Maybe he would take a detour to the library while buying the clay tomorrow, and look up old local records. There had to be something about her death in back the issues of the Stourbridge Times.

After Roy changed he made his way down to the kitchen he found Riza already standing before the stove stirring a sauce that smell tangy and sweet.

"Smells good." Roy said, coming up beside her, "And familiar" he added.

"Orange Chicken." she answered, "You said your mother use to make it at your house."

Roy looked at her for a long moment, noticed the tips of her short hair were still wet and clumping together in random spots. She was the most contrary person he had ever met; frail and delicate as a doll, than hard, sharp, and strong as a well crafted dagger. She gave so much, at the same time as giving so little. It seemed to Roy that she dedicated her time and mind to him and her father relentlessly so she wouldn't be asked to give over her real self to anyone. Or maybe she was just trying to distract herself.

"You remember that?" Roy asked.

"Yes"

Roy looked down into the pan and watched the deep burnt orange liquid bubble between the continuous circles she made with the wooden spoon. She was cooking his favorite dish and he'd been an ass to her today just because he thought he would have to shoot down the aspirations of a childhood crush she never even had. She hadn't done anything to give that impression, she was just a little girl, a sad little girl.

"I'm sorry, Riza." he said.

"For what?"

He shrugged and looked up at her. "For throwing clay at you" he answered somewhat sheepishly.

She thought about that for awhile then looked up from the pan to stare, thoughtfully, at the wall behind the stove. "You were acting funny. Did something happen?" she finally asked, turning to look him in the eyes.

"I was given some misinformation." he said,

"And you know the truth now?"

"Yeah." He looked away, because he was afraid she would reveal that as the lie it was. He hadn't any idea about the truth of anything at Lyonton, except that he had overreacted earlier and had only caused trouble. But as to why, he didn't fully understand.

"That's good." She said turning away from the stove to check on the chicken in the oven. They didn't say much after that, then her father joined them for dinner, and he did speak either. Mr. Hawkeye didn't so much as mention the soldier, but his mood radiated irritation.

Roy went to bed feeling like a ascetic that had taken a vow of silence to an angry god, and he hoped his dreams would be more pleasant.

**A/N: Reviews make me happy.**


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